Page 28 of Emylia

Not until the silence swallowed me whole and left me standing there like I hadn’t just cracked open in front of him.

A whoosh of air escaped me as I looked up at the sky, praying to Elessandria for strength.

Or restraint.

Or anything that would help.

The sun was almost at its zenith; it wouldn’t be long before the sword-fighting tournament began. Avoiding the path I’d just come down, I scouted around the village, a trodden-down trail wound its way outside Ophelia towards the open fields.

A sea of green rose before me, swallowing me in seconds. The open expanse of grassland spread for miles, speckled with millions of multicolored wildflowers.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, savoring the smell. It was the smell of freedom, or at least it would’ve been if it wasn’t for the crowd of people clogging the field.

As I made my way through the swarm of spectators, a new kind of fear buzzed through me. Irrational or not, I couldn’t shake my uneasiness.

Eyes drifted over me; I didn’t know what I expected to see. Pity? Patronizing kindness? Nothing would surprise me at this point, especially after experiencing Josephine’s reaction.

I was wrong. There was no way I could’ve predicted this.

Familiar faces that I had spent my entire life being judged by and disapproved of were gone. Nonexistent. Everyone was, well, happy.

It was beyond bizarre.

I had grown accustomed to the grief in my mother’s eyes, along with my own overbearing sorrow. I’d forgotten what it was like to smile, what it was like to be anything other than miserable.

Somehow, the mood was infectious, and with each step, excitement bubbled through me. Maybe my mother was right, maybe it was a good thing she made me come to the festival.

Soft flower petals tickled the back of my legs as I lowered myself to the ground. Wriggling until I was comfortable, I turned my attention to one of the sparring rings.

Ten different rings were set up, the boundaries outlined with spectators chewing on large turkey legs and making flower necklaces in the grass as they watched and cheered their favorite fighters. If I wanted to, I could’ve drifted between fights. However, I was happy sitting and watching. Especially since I knew the accumulation of the fights would come to a head in the ring I had chosen, and I wasn’t willing to give up my prime position.

Guilt ebbed through me when I remembered I was supposed to be watching Sebastian. But I reassured myself, I’d see him fight when he made it to the final. He’d forgive me… once he saw me front and center cheering him on as he finally beat the chief. If I left now, I’d lose my spot and be swallowed by the crowd, then he’d never know I was there. The final was the one that mattered, and I was hedging all my bets on him.

Swords were a blur of glinting steel as they caught rays of sunlight, scattering it through the throng of people. Without warning, jealousy clawed its way through me.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to learn how to fight. The first time I’d heard one of Olag’s tales, I fell in love. Not with princes and princesses, quite frankly, I found them boring. No, I wanted to be a complete badass; I wanted to be a warrior.

Countless hours of training with my father, my uncle, and Sebastian had honed my dream into a reality. Obviously, I had never been battle-tried because I wasn’ttechnicallyallowed to touch weapons. But I had trained hard my entire life.

I had continued training even when sweat had become a second skin, and my hands began to bleed. When Uncle Thrainn had pushed Sebastian, he had also pushed me. When my father asked if I was too tired to continue, not once did I say no, I just kept going. Surrendering wasn’t in my vocabulary. It was the reason why I was still able to function even though I’d just lost my dad.

I didn’t know how to give up.

A burn rose like shadows, clinging around my throat–thick, cloying–like ash from a fire I never put out. And when I swallowed it down, it didn’t vanish. It settled in my chest instead–quite, constant–where all the broken things lived. Then deeper still, until it lodged behind my ribs–a phantom ache I’d long since learned not to name.

Where his voice still echoed in the cracks.

Where his absence hollowed me out from the inside.

My heart knew that I was better than every man fighting today, bar my uncle and Sebastian. But it was forbidden for me to prove myself. Just because I was a woman.

It had never been a problem, at least not in Ophelia. Every woman I had ever met was content raising their children while their husbands provided for and protected them. No one ever questioned their lives.

That was before me.

I was different. My father had always said it was because I was destined for greatness. When I was younger, Iactuallybelieved him. I clung to my father’s words like they were words from the Gods.

The novelty wore off quickly, probably something to do with the incessant teasing and the loathing stares. Everyone shared one thing in common: their disdain for me.

---